The Light That Burns
by Ramzes
Summary: The Maidenvault stripped Elaena Targaryen of everything - the clothing of her choice, her hope, her freedom. And now, it can even strip her of her past.
1. Naked

**The Light That Burns**

_Naked_

Elaena Targaryen would never feel more naked in her life than she had in those years in the so called Court of Love – not even in her wedding night with the old Plumm, not even at the births of her children where maesters, midwives, and handmaidens all had a good look at her writhing body and the gory substances coming from all her orifices. The magnificently furnished building was the place she was stripped of everything – the clothing of her choice, her hope, her freedom. She only had what Baelor would give her. Not that it had been different before – she had always been dependent on the king her father or Daeron. But she had never realized her own dependence as entirely as she had now. She had never wanted something and been refused because the King would not like it.

Despite the flock of highborn maidens brought in their prison to serve them, the three princesses soon learned not to get too close to any of them. Many of those served as spies to their families and this way, to Baelor. And there were those who, spies or not, could not stay for more than a year or two there, in this golden cage. Written pleas to their families and heartfelt tears brought to the young women being taken out of the Maidenvault every so often.

Daena often spoke of what she would do once they were free. Elaena never did it, out of fear that there would be three or four years until this day came. She never envisioned full ten.

Days dragged on, so terrifyingly alike. Sometimes, she woke up at night and frantically tried to remember how much time she had spent here. Other times, she could not say how many months there were until her next nameday. Time held no sway here…

They were allowed visitors sometimes, as long as they were women. Naerys came quite frequently, too often heavy with child, or mourning the loss of one. Their mother came every two months, never missing a time, even if she had to come from Driftmark where she spent much of her time now. _She doesn't want to watch the septon ruining the Seven Kingdoms and us both_, Daena often said angrily and while Rhaena was appalled, Elaena thought their sister had the right of it. She didn't know whether Daenaera wasn't allowed to visit them more often, or just couldn't bear it. The Seven knew that Elaena and Daena barely managed to take it as well – and even Rhaena who wasn't as strongly opposed to their imprisonment took it hard, no matter how desperately they wanted to see her. Elaena could see her mother growing old and that was one of the very few things interrupting that terrible timelessness – Daenaera's aging. That alone could stir the anger the monotony of her life had stifled long ago.

Until the Dornish girl arrived.

Elaena knew that Daeron had tried to obtain permission to visit them a few times. Baelor had always refused. Even his Hand who practically ruled in his stead wasn't allowed to permeate their isolation. But it looked that Daeron was a special case. Baelor remembered all too well that his nephew had been Elaena's playmate and constant companion. Somehow, to his addled wits, that had clearly translated into Elaena being willing and able to easily seduce the boy with her evil charms, so Daeron had never been granted access to the princesses' guilded prison for his own safety. Never. Until he brought her over. Her. The Dornish girl.

At the first moment, she returned his smile and said something she thought was courteous. From the smiles around her, she knew that she had said the right thing but for the life of hers, she couldn't remember what it was. She was too busy watching him and recognizing in his familiar yet unknown features just how fully life had gone on without her, as if she was the soul of someone long gone who had escaped the watchful guard of the Stranger and gone back to see how everyone had learned to cope without her. Daeron was much changed, grown up, and had almost nothing to do with the boy she remembered, except for the fact that he was most certainly not a warrior. Elaena had never thought he would be and anyway, they had very rarely played at tourneys and warriors back then.

But he had found a maiden, it seemed. That much was clear by everything they did not say.

Elaena hated her from the start. From the moment she saw the newcomer's dark hair and eyes, so different from her own. Her ugly dark skin. The cloud of exotic aroma rising from her clothes at every movement. It felt strange because she had spent many days listening to the sounds of the festivities marking Daeron's wedding and trying to imagine what Mariah Martell was like. She had held no antipathy for the Dornish girl then and yet now it came bursting out – the resentment, the long held hatred of Dorne, Daeron's fierce threats and vows that those vile sand-dwellers would not oppose him. And now one of them was received with honours here, at King's Landing? One of them was considered worthy to wear the crown of Queen one day while Elaena and her sisters, born Targaryen and dragons were to waste their lives away buried here? That was so terribly unfair – and somehow the besotted look Daeron was giving the Dornish creature made it all worse. Mariah Martell could not have possibly done something good enough to deserve the position at court, the crown waiting for her, and love all combined in one marriage, one man. Elaena's onetime companion who had had a life, for the Seven's sake! A life without her. A life that he would still keep living once he left here, but with the Dornish snake next to him. At this moment, Elaena finally realized that Baelor's fears for her chastity might have been well-founded. She might have tried to seduce Daeron had she been given the chance. Living with him would vastly better than living in this cage. Or would it be not? She felt dizzy at realizing that she no longer knew the answer. She had spent here… oh my, seven years. Seven long years, and she had to count the because she had not felt them pass.

The Dornish girl smiled at her, clearly not picking on the chaotic disturbed thoughts in her mind. "I am honoured to meet you, Your Grace," she said. "I've heard much about you."

To Elaena, that was a new blow, this well-practiced courtesy, the realization that she had been demoted to a piece in someone's fond memories. Daeron had _lived_ in those years – and she had not. "I am sure you have," she said and then, to her horror and mortification, she lost control over the resentful being currently inhabiting her skin. "You are just what I expected of a Dornishwoman. And what Daeron expected once, as well." Her lips stayed flat, just like her father's. "So, what was the common refrain in such occasions? I am pleased to meet you."

Daena laughed aloud. Rhaena looked horrified.

Mariah Martell did not even flinch. "I don't believe that," she said. "But I am no more pleased than you, I assure you. Can we go already, Daeron?"

"Of course," he said readily. "It was clearly a mistake to come here at all and I'm sorry I lost your time." To Elaena's distaste, he rose while speaking. Like an obedient hound! She waited for him to say something evil to her, so she could feel justified in what she already perceived as a shameful loss of temper. But to her horror, he didn't even bother with the formal goodbye. She watched him go, her cry frozen in her throat, realizing with horror that she might now have all her remaining years to remember this encounter and regret that she had tarnished one of the few good memories that still hadn't eluded her with the stain of her own despair.


	2. The Bells of Freedom

Thanks to everyone who reviewed.

The Light That Burns

**The Bells of Freedom**

The sound came as twilight drew near. Elaena first heard it from the top of only tower in their dwelling – a clear ringing of bells, beauty that moved her to tears.

Until it became horrendous. Because it wouldn't stop. No matter where she turned, no matter how hard she pressed her palms against her ears, the bells kept driving her insane. Finally, she reasoned that she might be hearing them better because of her location, so she descended the stairs, her hood closely pulled behind her ears to mute the intrusive sound.

"What's going on?" she asked as soon as she entered the main hall.

Barbra looked at her and shook her head to show that she had no idea either. Around them, scared servants and stunned attendants traded suggestions, each more weird that the last one. It was a dragon attack. Everyone knew that there might still be wild dragons in Essos. No, it was a new war with Dorne because those savages could not be trusted…

"He's dead!" Daena's voice cut the murmuring.

Startled, Elaena whirled about to look at her sister. Daena's eyes shone with desperate hope and bitter triumph, her lips opened slightly in a savage smile and curled to curb something that for a moment, looked like a sob to Elaena. In her arms, Daemon looked around, frightened but so stunned that it didn't occur to him to cry. One small hand was pressed over the ear that was not shielded by his mother's shoulder.

"Who?" Elaena asked.

"Baelor!" Daena replied impatiently. "He must be dead!"

For a moment, the floor shook beneath Elaena. When she regained her balance, the bells were still ringing.

"Don't be so joyful," she murmured and only then did she realize that she sounded just like their mother.

Daena could not hear her, of course, but Elaena's expression must have been transparent. "Why not?" she asked defiantly. "If he isn't, we'll spend the next thirty years here and you'll only look at the sea from the tower. All the adventures you're dreaming of will stay just a dream…"

Elaena blushed, cursing the impulse that had prompted her into confiding in her sister. But almost immediately, the gravity of Daena's suggestion crushed her. Could she be right? Did Elaena want her to be right? It sickened her to think that she might wish for Baelor's death but she wasn't sure that she was not wishing for it.

She went to the window and tried to see what was going on. But the garden was completely empty.

And then, the door was thrown open – for the first time since the day it had been closed behind them. Elaena spun around, to have her vision filled by sparkling white. Sparkling white and sunlight. He was standing into a sunbeam and it gleamed around his head and shoulders, crowning him in gold.

Elaena's eyes, used to the twilight, recognized him immediately but he needed another moment for his vision to clear. When it did, he made another step into the hall and then a third one, addressing both her and Daena. "The Seven saw fit to deprive us of our king Baelor. And he who will sit the Iron Throne deemed it wise not to let your trial go on a moment longer. From now on, you're free. You can leave this abode the moment you decide."

_She'll praise the gods now_, Elaena thought, numb with horror. No matter what, the idea of Daena publicly rejoicing in Baelor's death was repellant to her. But her sister didn't lose a moment with gloating. Instead, she rushed for the door, flew past Aemon, ran down the stairs. Elaena heard an ecstatic cry and then she didn't hear anything more.

Aemon was looking at her expectantly. She couldn't say what he felt. She only felt a faint trace of sorrow because there was nothing left of her adored, much older cousin who had played dragon to her dragonrider when she had been so little. At those days, she had worshipped him. She had thought that one day, she'd wed him and he had only laughed and told her that when she grew up to be the most beautiful girl in the realm, he'd be an old man walking with a stick. There was no liveliness in his pale ascetic face now. Did he mourn Baelor? Was he happy for her and her sisters? She didn't know.

"When would you like to leave, Your Grace?" he asked, very politely, and it struck Elaena that he was now not just any Kingsguard but the King's son. Did this give him precedence over her? She didn't know that either! And what did it matter? Why was she thinking of it at all?

All of a sudden, her fear grew. As ardently as she had wished to escape the Maidenvault, she had spent more of her conscious life here. She drew a deep breath, determined not to yield to fear. "Now," she announced and took the arm he offered her. To her surprise, he shifted a little, to better hide her from view, and rearranged their hands, so he was now holding hers. He was warm and reassuring. Without looking at him, she understood. He was trying to give her his own confidence and she loved him for that, for understanding.

Outside, the light was strangely bright. It was the same light she had enjoyed thousands of times in the garden and on the top of the tower and yet it wasn't. This light was so bright that it burned and in its searing brilliance Elaena could make out the faces of a huge crowd, courtiers she didn't know at all.

She didn't know where to go either. She did not remember. Aemon's hand enclosing hers was her only guidance as he led her towards the rooms that had once been hers and would be hers once again until better accommodations could be found.

* * *

The invitation came the day after the next one. Elaena stared at it as if she expected the words to jump out of the page and attack her. Princess Mariah would like the pleasure of her company, the note said, and for a moment Elaena thought that Daeron had forced the Dornish girl to write it before she remembered the adoration in his eyes. He was so disgustingly besotted with her. It was probably she who could make him do whatever she wanted, not the other way round.

What did she want? With Uncle Viserys' ascension Mariah was no longer just Princess Mariah. She was now a queen in waiting, although she'd have to wait for a very long time indeed! Her elevation was Elaena's demotion in rank. Was she trying to show her superiority? The letter didn't read like an order but who could say what Mariah would do if Elaena didn't accept? Would she be triumphant? Or just think that she had cowered Elaena into hiding?

Never. Elaena ground her teeth, prepared her best smile, and wrote back, saying that she'd be happy to visit. Not that she knew where she'd go. She had missed on so much of life at court that she didn't even know where the Dornish girl had been installed.

* * *

"Is that the way?" she asked suspiciously when Aemon started leading her to a part of the Red Keep that she remembered. She already knew that Daeron's lodgings were there and there was hardly enough room for another royal apartment.

He nodded, waiting for her as she leaned over to pick up a flower. "She lives with Daeron," he said, and her eyes went wide.

"She doesn't have chambers of her own?" she asked, stunned.

"She does," he said. "She just doesn't use them."

Elaena should have expected this, yet it saddened her all of a sudden. Would there be a man who would like to share his life with her so thoroughly? She was already past her twenty first nameday; Mariah was barely seventeen and a mother, with a second babe on the way. Once again, Elaena's resentment grew.

The mourning period was far from over, so she was not surprised by the silence in the chambers Daeron and Mariah occupied. Music and laughter would be very unbefitting, so she tried to case her anxiety away by listening for the echo of her own steps. But there was none. Her feet sank into thick Myrish carpets.

Aemon stopped before an oak, silver-studded door and knocked. Almost immediately, a voice gave him permission to enter. Elaena raised her chin.

The door slowly opened.


	3. Shards of Sun

The Light That Burns

_Shards of Sun_

The first thing Elaena noticed was the aroma – expensive perfumes and many flowers. Then, the sounds came – soft voices and rustling of fine materials. That somehow calmed her down because it was not so different from her life in the Maidenvault. Feminine luxury was a part of her life, as permanent as the dragon blood flowing in her veins.

One of the women was reading aloud, probably a sad story of a valiant knight and his lovely lady so the young girls here would have something to sigh romantically over. But she was gestured to stop before Elaena could hear the words.

The fact that no one sank into a curtsy irritated her but she knew it was only right. Since Baelor's death, she had lost the right to receive such respect with Mariah present. No, she was the one who had to curtsy and she did, although inwardly, a little voice kept asking, "Why should I? I was born royal – she wasn't." She kept her head straight. No matter that this was too bold a gesture, she could not force herself to lower her eyes before the Dornish woman.

"You may rise, my lady," Mariah said, reaching out to take her hand, and Elaena did, gracefully… right to the moment she swayed slightly, her curtsy rusty all of a sudden from years of disuse. Now, she realized that the slight movement she had come to make for her mother in the Maidenvault could get her nowhere out of it. As she strained not to fall flat on her back, she felt the hand holding hers grasp her tight, helping her stay upright. It all lasted no longer than a heartbeat and in fact, Elaena's clumsiness was not as obvious as she had thought; but the Dornish girl's cheeky smile showed her that Mariah had realized the full extent of her slip. Blushing, she sank into the chair the other woman had indicated and almost immediately, an orange ball crossed the room in a hiss of angry fur and threw itself in her lap.

The women gaped. Not quite understanding their confusion, Elaena stroked the cat and realized why it had been in such a hurry: its breath clearly showed that someone in the palace had just been left without their portion of fish. The cat was probably a frequent and totally despised visitor in the kitchens.

"What?" Elaena asked and was informed that usually, Sandy liked only Mariah and her little son whom he allowed to pull his tail and even thrust his hands in his ears.

Finally, Daeron's wife put an end to Elaena's nervous anticipation. "Despite being grief-stricken by the death of our King Baelor, it's our duty to keep living," she said. "And we don't know you nearly as well as we'd like. It was through no fault of ours, though, and we'd like to remedy the situation to our best satisfaction, I promise. What says you?"

What did she think? Did she want to accept the chance this Dornish woman would give her? Elaena knew that Mariah was well liked by the new King and while reputedly she had already had her fair share of clashes with Aegon, she could reasonably be expected to survive him and not the other way round. Aligning herself with Mariah would save her much of the efforts building a standing at court for herself would have taken.

But it would also strain her relations with Daena. Her sister would never accept Mariah Martell's mercy – and anyway, she didn't look that keen to offer it either. Daena hadn't been invited, had she? She'd take Elaena's act as a betrayal. Betrayal of Daeron's memory. Betrayal of their dragon blood. Since Baelor's betrayal of her that had caused her so much pain, Daena would not tolerate even the merest ripple of treachery. Or what she perceived as treachery.

Fear gripped her. She didn't want to be on bad terms with Daena – but she did not want to live according to her sister's rules either. Why should she fight for every scrape she got when she was offered a chance to be given much more? The Dornish presence was here to stay; unless Daena resorted to a infanticide, a half-Dornish prince would sit the Iron Throne one day. And before that, Mariah would be the principal lady at court, Daeron's cherished queen. It would be unwise to throw her generosity back in her face.

Why was she offering this generosity, though? Elaena gave her a quick look. Mariah's cheeks no longer carried the round plumpness of recent childhood, her lips were fuller and her expression more mature. She looked like a woman now. Perhaps she didn't want to make another enemy at a court that held much derision towards her already? Elaena's dragon blood should count for something, shouldn't it?

"I quite agree," she heard herself say. "And I am very honoured to have merited your interest, my lady."

Absently, she wondered when Daena would hear about that. The impact of those innocent words shook her. That was her first act of independence from the older sister she had worshipped so. And she knew how Daena was. No matter how much she loved Elaena, she would never forgive her this defection, even if she ended up rejected by Mariah and brought to her knees. The thought of being so easily led made her add, "But make no promises. I'd rather not rely on anyone else's goodwill. After all, my late brother promised me that he was doing the best for us. I saw it differently."

She heard the sharp note in her own voice and regretted it immediately. The narrowing of Mariah's eyes showed that she had also heard it. But it looked like it was a matter of mutual understanding and not overt insult, for no one else did.

"Right," Mariah agreed. "I apologize. We aren't men, to give promises and then renege on them."

That rendered Elaena speechless. What stunned her even more was that the darker among the other woman's companions were nodding. She had heard that in Dorne, women and men were treated equally but she had only heard remarks about women's frailty and flippancy. Never something about men.

"Even my lord the Prince is not very good on promises," Mariah went on. "I swear, sometimes he forgets he has wed me when a maester arrives with a new book from the Citadel."

There was a ripple of laughter around the room when Mariah's ladies, both Dornish and not, started exchanging their own experiences. For now free from their scrutiny, Elaena tried to glean from Mariah's expression if the marriage had soured. Perhaps that was why Mariah had reached out at her despite the one-time offense? If Daeron wouldn't shield her…

A flurry of movement made her look up. All around the room, the women were sinking in curtsies. Mariah rose and did the same. Elaena followed.

"I'm glad to see you," the Queen said, talking to both her goodaughter and Elaena. In her arms, a ball of energy with black hair and olive face broke into a smile and started wriggling, trying to go to his mother. Mariah took him and blew in his face, making him laugh.

Elaena helped Naerys seat herself comfortably. "How are you?" her cousin asked in a very soft undertone.

"I don't know…" Elaena replied just as softly. "What does she want?"

Naerys shrugged, showing that she had no idea.

The cat leapt in Elaena's lap again, followed by a little hand trying to catch him. Elaena laughed and gave Mariah an inquiring look. The Dornish woman nodded, so Elaena reached out and took the babe. No, no babe. They would be celebrating his first nameday soon and he was already someone who understood many things. He certainly understood "kitty" because that was what he kept repeating, pushing his hands into the poor cat's ears when his mother wasn't watching. Elaena noticed, amused, that he understood subtlety, as well. He had yet to master the art of actually deceiving Mariah since she always prevented his secret attempts to assault Sandy's ears. But the fight between them was a funny thing to watch.

"He's delightful, isn't he?" Naerys asked.

Elaena wasn't so sure. Baelor Targaryen had nothing Targaryen about him – she saw only Mariah's looks there. But he was small and warm, and his proximity made her body ache for someone like him – but her own. She had seen twenty one namedays already. She was well past the age most women had their first.

"Yes," she agreed. "He is."

What was Mariah planning, after all?

All of a sudden, the Dornish girl looked at the door. Her expression changed, the delight of her son turning into something different but no less powerful.

A moment later, he entered. Daeron. Nodding at the curtsies and dismissing the women very politely. As they filed out, he looked at the three remaining ladies. At one of them, first. Elaena felt very stupid for even thinking that his relationship with Mariah might have taken a bitter turn. He was more besotted with his Dornish wife than she remembered.

He bowed to his mother and then looked at Elaena, a slight smile playing around his mouth. "I trust you were made feel welcome?" he inquired.

And Elaena at once knew the reason she had been invited. It had nothing to do with politics and standings. Nothing like this. It was something far more simpler. Far more precious. Despite the offense from their last meeting, Daeron would still like to consider her a friend. Help her get used to her new circumstances. Try to make up for the time they had lost. Mariah had meant exactly what she had said. He wished to restore their friendship – and Mariah deferred to him in this. She just wanted to see him happy.

She valued him as much as he valued her.

Once again, resentment built up. Daeron was barely eighteen but he was now older than her. He had had the chance to find someone who loved and valued him as much as he did them. Make someone want to overlook a slight just for him. Be ready to make such slight a small episode in his life, instead of a pivotal point. He had learned compassion, maturity, understanding – all those emotions grown-ups felt. Trapped in her gilded cage, Elaena had almost stayed a child where maturity was concerned.

But she would learn. Determinedly, she pushed resentment back and returned the smile.

"More than welcome," she said. "Your lady wife was most courteous."

"I wouldn't expect less of her," Daeron said, giving the lady a smile that made Elaena ache with yearning. Not for him – but for someone to love her as he loved his Mariah.

"And your son is most charming," she went on, most sincerely.

To her surprise, he looked uncomfortable. "People say so," he muttered, earning a sharp glance from Mariah as she reached over to take Baelor. For a moment, Elaena had the distinct feeling that he wanted to grab his son and toss him through the window!

_Is he jealous_, she wondered. _Does he envy Baelor her devotion? Does he want all her attention for himself?_ Laughter rose to her lips as she realized that this new Daeron was not as mature as she had thought. He was a far more complex man – one she would gladly get to know.

**The End**


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